set just after the Raid

- THE LEVIATHAN -

His strides were long. His breaths, heaving. They had to hurry: the caves were open. They'd need to find Totum, and they'd need to push to Draco--whatever stood in their way.

"I need to know that you have control over yourself. And if you do not, I need to know why."

He'd bid Orthoclase-Alpha follow him--alone. This was a talk they had to have now--not a great time for casual conversation, but given the circumstances, it was urgent. "You showed incredible self-control back there. I am proud of you; I admired your actions. But as to what happened before: I never pushed you, never fought to find out what it was." Nemesis. Blood. Blood like old, strewn across the dust of the arena floor. "I gave you that time, but now I need to know that you can still stand as my Overseer. And that you wish to," Vargas went on.

He came to a halt. Arms reached up, plucking hidden stones from the crevices. An oily black. A dark red agate. Toxic eyes glanced back, passing over the Orthoclase as he moved past it. As he moved past it, and down the tunnel, not confronting, not lecturing. Had it truly spoken its mind before, with the pressure of an audience? It had hardly spoken at all. A meek 'yes, master' had been nothing. It told him nothing but that Orthoclase was cowed--and from what? He glanced its way; it was half of this generation. Creatures in his era would snarl at those who struck them, and that showed courage; that showed fire. Orthoclase was... more sensitive than that. Different. All blind loyalty and silent suffering. And so Vargas had to know. Had to ask. "I need an Overseer that believes in what we are doing. That understands that they are a cog in the wheel that keeps the mechanisms of this cave not only turning, but alive. If you are reluctant, if you will break beneath this pressure, if you will rail against it..." Vargas reached up again, pulling, with the quiet screech of metal on stone, the corrupted halberd from its hiding place. "Then tell me now. We will work first on training a replacement."

He turned toward it, then, and now there was attention--no confrontation, now, but with the stones and halberd in hand, Vargas had what he wanted from this cave. "If you believe, if you understand the order in chaos and the tasks ahead of us, and if you wish to strive ever-higher in forging these creations, in having a hand in the shaping of the universe itself--then you will remain my Overseer. But I ask you, because I need to know: can you; and will you." Overly-solemn, yet still without emotion: fact, but somber, sobering.

He would call the others, soon, to join them: all the children, and Doctor and the rest, that had remained behind and away from the fight. He'd tell them they could return here, if they wished--remain 'Sentinels' of a desert they never entered--but the rest, the able and the willing, he would take to begin their work.

The question remained, however: where did Orthoclase-Alpha stand on all of this?

@Orthoclase-Alpha

The orthoclase'd been trailing with whatever duties it'd been assigned, whether it was ensuring all their assets were accounted for or doing last-minute training sessions before the push for Draco. Vargas's bringing it aside had it tensing involuntarily, though that was only visible in the anticipatory prick of its quills and shuffling pace as it followed. What do you need? was something it'd say if it didn't already know that the master was waiting until they were further from the Warren.

Another conversation on control was... not entirely unexpected. Their brief induction into Mother had stuck with it, made it wary. Garnet-Delta had seized control of it's body some cycle or two ago (and it was still furious about that.) Its own temper had gone completely haywire for all of the arena's spectators to see. All moments of lost control. Only one was truly internal. Alpha couldn't do anything about those external factors but limit them, but its own self? Repressed and kept in its place.

"... I am proud of you..." and that struck it in some odd way; but, the Leviathan was waiting for an answer, so it shoved that aside.

A cog in the wheel—this, it understood, but those mechanisms? They were far beyond the scale of the Caves. It knew that much, but it couldn't comprehend the vastness of their roles. Unlike Vargas, it hadn't seen a thousand-and-more years of work. Hadn't been made and programmed to be an Overseer. As the purple behemoth scraped an oily-black halberd against the ground, it thought and thought. Alpha knew that it would continue in this path, but could it? It had no true sense of want—it always put that down like a lame dog—but, it was convinced that this was the right direction.

Hooked claws dug into the rock and it shifted in place, head shifting to meet Vargas's gaze where it'd drifted to watch the various things he gathered up. When it spoke, it was at a hesitating pace, uncertain but needing to say something, "I'll remain as your Overseer." It nearly said if you want it, but that wasn't what he was asking.

"But—" and it snapped its jaws shut, considering for a moment. How stupid would it look just now asking this, admitting this? That it had no real grasp of what it was doing, what it was? Vargas had spoken on the Creator and Him and whatnot before, but it was as he'd said: it knew little of the past. Secondhand information wouldn't help it. Alpha glanced sidelong before admitting, "I don't think I... understand. Know?" Clarify. It immediately wanted to back off and say nevermind, but it was too late, now. "What... are we making, fighting— for?"

Was it supposed to know this? Beyond a plain for the Creator? Pride'd asked it what it was fighting for, cycles ago... it didn't have a fully-formed answer for him, then.

@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

For a moment, Vargas paused. There was a brief sense of weariness to it, a regard in his eyes as he studied Orthoclase that didn't, for once, glow with dutiful intensity. No; this was a question he should have better answered in the past.

Hell, he'd barely taught it, even, how to Oversee. How much of its insecurity, fear, or whatever this was, stemmed purely from not knowing how to do its job?

With a grunt, Vargas sank to his haunches. And first, he acknowledged the validity of the question--there was no mockery in him for it. "That is my failing, for not teaching you more clearly. And there's much even I don't know. But I can tell you this," he began, and boy oh boy was this to be a lesson.

"There are many worlds out there. No, I do not know how many," and he admitted his ignorance twice now in three sentences, directly; "and there are magics throughout them. I do not know how they came into being. That was never important, for that to be told to me. I have wondered if they were primordial: the First Things that existed, and all else came from them! Or perhaps powers and... themes, magics, grew enough to become like gods. I know of a few, and there may be many more, and most of them, I think, are enemies. As power always is. Power fights; it conflicts. The thing called Mother," he went on, glancing back down the tunnel and suppressing a shudder--its touch was insidious, unwelcome--"is one of those. Or rather, the creation of one. A stray child, sent to seduce the unwary. It cares nothing for those it drags into its web--its only goal is to sabotage this nest. Our Creator is chaos, you know this. Chaos is freedom: the strong may carve their own fates, strive for an equilibrium of their own." Had Vargas known more of these things, perhaps his viewpoint would be shifted, of course; but his perspective was... limited. It was one of millennia in the same location, staring up from the same enclosed world, and so he knew only these things, and in this way.

"The thing that made 'Mother' is antithesis to chaos. It is order, but not a calm and measured peace. It is control! It is a lack of freedom. It is safety in servitude. Give up your freedom, and it will 'protect' you, for as long as that suits its needs," and Vargas sounded disgusted by this. He enjoyed the idea of chaos finding its own 'order'--the equilibrium of a natural world, really--though he didn't realize the irony of this, either, as he thought it. "I tell you all of this to explain; to answer your question. These powers fight among themselves for dominance! For control. Our Creator tasks our Lord. There are likely hundreds of such nests--thousands, perhaps!--like our own. And we provide, we create, those which are strong enough--those which will be chosen!--to go out and to defeat this Order. It would bring all to crystalline nothing; to a blank stasis without feeling or strength. You have felt how it controlled you-? That is what Order would do. A hive-mind, a single being with a thousand individuals, all identical, none with... self. That is blasphemy," the Master added bluntly--and though Vargas rarely sounded fervent, there was feeling in this, this time. "I do not know--I admit to you now--if there is pain and suffering that we add to. I do not know if this is the world I would build--bringing savagery to peace, where it exists. But I think that what we destroy is mostly order. Do our creations fight other forms of magic? Other... themes? Possibly. That knowledge has not all been granted to me." It wasn't worth going into the other details, not yet--the point was there.

"In the long run, then, our task is to support our Creator's efforts to spread Chaos. To ensure its domination. To ensure that Order does not creep over all living things and sterilize them." Not for reproduction, no--but that white, blank room with antiseptic stench, that blank and empty nothing that Order seemed to revere. "In the short, we represent this nest. If we fail, we prove ourselves useless; no longer worth maintaining in these efforts of war. If we are infested again and again by that stink of Order, then we are compromised and do not deserve continued effort. No: we must prove our strength, wipe this out, and provide the power for chaos to thrive. For freedom to thrive." A pause, as Master Vargas considered. "To inflict cruelty? Perhaps. I do not know. Does it matter? It may; we will see. These are recent thoughts, Orthoclase, and I do not know the answers to them. But those are what we 'fight for,' as you say. For our Creator. For the freedom of power, of chaos. For the destruction of rigid, smothering order," and again, Vargas seemed as though he meant this, an unusual light glinting in his eyes. Zealous-? No, but there was something there. "Or if you do not believe in that-? Then the assurance of this cave system's continued survival. Both of those lay on our shoulders." His face twisted into a grin, then: "No pressure, Orthoclase-Alpha."

Vargas pushed up, picking up the stones, the halberd. He was in no rush to leave, and did not seem as though he were about to--only that this particular speech was done.

"It occurs to me that I never trained you to be Overseer. I declared it, but the need was not yet there. I will teach you, when we are in Draco, when it is safely secured. How to read others--how to find their value. How to strengthen their strengths, and cover their weaknesses. How to inspire them, train them, discipline them. An oversight, that it has gone on this long without that," though it was--and he wouldn't say this--at least in part to Orthoclase's instability. There'd been no point in sitting it down to train it when it was fidgeting and worrying about things it refused to speak of--or more likely, didn't itself understand.

So he'd given it time.

But now it was time to move on: now it was time to begin. And for that, he did not need a faltering spawn; he needed an Overseer. Perhaps now he could forge one.

@Orthoclase-Alpha

The orthoclase mirrored his sitting motion, even though it didn't relieve any strain from its weight. A lack of knowledge wasn't assuring; but, it listened—as it had before and might always.

It only vaguely retained mentions of planets—worlds, as Vargas called them; first, with Astraea in the Arena, and then the Kings and their strange Hunt. Living in a cave for all its existence, it was impossible to conceptualize the vastness of space. No one should be surprised that it simply imagined cave systems like these, even with the knowledge that skies were infinite and the horizon wasn't blocked by thousands of miles of stone. Alpha wasn't very imaginative, nor did it linger much on it now or then.

Magic was at the heart of existence, then... ? It's compartmentalization of that concept wasn't quite as profound, but there was the gist: everything starts there. Vargas wasn't certain, but it took his words to be fact for now. It could mull over them later, if it was feeling so philosophical—and not overwhelmed by the vast influx of information that could barely parse. Sure, it'd asked for as much and expected an answer in great detail, but this... ?

Except, one word stuck out to it: control. It always came back to that, Control. Those Powers That Be vied for it, clawed tooth and nail for it with whatever means necessary. Mother, creations made to destroy; Order, Chaos. (Alpha nodded mutely at the rhetorical "you have felt how it controlled you— ?") Order was control, Chaos was a lack of it. What lay in the middle? Self-control? No destiny but one's own? The orthoclase couldn't help but to reach for it. It always had—even with the irony of letting its Master hammer it into the mold, even now. But, in a moment of brilliant inspiration, it got it.

At the tail-end of "for our Creator. For the freedom of power, of chaos. For the destruction of rigid, smothering order" it mouthed, "for control." There was hardly any voice behind it; it wasn't trying to interrupt. It seemed like an oversimplification, too, but... well...

Alpha remained sitting, head swinging to track the Leviathan's movements while he shoved up and gathered his luggage. Quills pricked, putrid lime eyes blinking once. "It's all for control—and to... survive," it spoke more forcefully, claws scraping as it shifted on the ground. A moment passed, and it launched itself to its feet. It took half a step into pacing before stopping itself with a gritting of teeth. "The strong thrive," because the weak simply got by on others. (What a nasty thing to think, however innocently it thought of it.) "So... we must prove strength, for the Creator. Him? For freedom."

Freedom, at what cost? Who defined freedom? The ability to impose one's own power over another and reign superior? Were only those at the top gifted with freedom relative to those beneath them? Orthoclase-Alpha didn't ask itself these questions.

Instead, it looked up and briefly searched for any response to that Alpha-style summary.

Then, the topic of training. What was there to really offer to that? A gee, thanks boss? Hardly seemed appropriate. The Overseer straightened somewhat and slid out of its low, slinking gait for a moment. It bowed its head, "I'm ready for it." It'd like to think it had been before. Hopefully, bygones could be bygones and it could find familiar routines to be comfortable in once again.

@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas listened, patient--despite the rush; his Overseer was worth these few minutes' investment, and then some. 'The strong thrive. So... we must prove strength, for the Creator. Him? For freedom.'

The Master considered this, for a moment, and then spoke, clarifying this carefully. It wasn't, perhaps, important to their tasks--but if he were being honest, then he'd ensure that Orthoclase understood the truth of the matter. His tone was not of reprimand, correction, but one of addition. "The strong thrive because the weak are annihilated. That is not the rule we make. That is the rule of nature and of existence. So even if it is not the rule we make, it is the one we must abide by to survive. It is not about only proving our strength: it is about being strong enough." A pause, as he wondered if this were clear enough a distinction, if this were quite the topic to make the point on. But it was truth; they were scrabbling for their survival, not simply to prove a point but to come out on top, to be so valuable that they couldn't be discarded. Or, rather, that doing so would be a momentous waste.

Strong enough that any coming to wipe them out would be annihilated.

Strong enough to stand against the Hive.

"If we are weak, the Hive will defeat us. We will be abandoned or destroyed, lest that Hive consume our strength and take it as its own! Freedom--should we ever earn that--comes at a much higher cost than survival. We can scrape by for survival; but true freedom we would have to fight far harder for. For now, we maintain freedom against the imprisonment of Order. And some measure of freedom, here in this cave: if I am a Master, I have some freedom, after all. Freedom to decide, rather than report to a Master above me. And you, as Overseer, have more freedom than, say, Khavur beneath you. Strength buys you that. The power to say, 'this is mine,' is what makes something yours. And that is how we will survive. By fighting, and saying, this life is ours; this cave is ours; no one will take it from us." This was spoken with quiet vehemence, and at length Vargas shook his head.

"Come, then. We will see to Draco; and when it is secure, and when we have rested, we will begin our training. We have much to do," and wasn't that always the way..?

Vargas then turned, bellowing, deafening--impossible to be missed--along the echoing expanse of Tunnel P. "ALL of you, all of the Sentinels, those who will stay and those who will come, come now with me to Draco! You may depart, if you wish, when that cave has been secured; but you must know where it is, in case you need to find me. Come!" he repeated, and then turned--nodding once in passing to Orthoclase-Alpha--before striding toward the tunnel exit. Should the Overseer wish further conversation, he would indulge it, certainly; meanwhile, the two gemstones and the shadow-swathed halberd were clutched in one six-thumbed hand.

@Orthoclase-Alpha

Its head tilted by the slightest of degrees at annihilated. All those walking the caves contradicted that. Small, weak little creatures wandered without worry. Those stronger than them either let them be or tapped into altruism—good for the Hell of it. Natural selection took care of things occasionally (see: Orion and fissioned Batcats) but there was scarcely anything to do that wicked job of annihilating. Not... yet.

Oh. That's what—

Power denoted worth, worth denoted claims. Alpha'd proven its worth, and it could lay claim to being an Overseer, its own identity earned. It nodded mutely, even though it fretted over what it would mark as belonging to it. The creatures did, in essence, but—no, that wasn't anything. Nothing that it... found itself reveling in. All things considered, it was rather ambivalent about that particular bit of superiority. Where was the satisfaction?

Being comfortable? Hardly.

In any case: "I see." Surely, it did. There wasn't much to elaborate on there. Demonstrate strength—whatever form it may be in—and you would be rewarded. Fail to, and things like the Hive would take advantage of that weakness. Simple as that.

For Draco, it barked automatically, "yes, sir." It glanced over its shoulder as it started to trail behind Vargas, then ahead at the first sign of movement down the tunnel. Mother ebbed into mind; not that it'd ever left, with it being at the center of conversation—if you could call it that—and apparently newfound motives. Twin peaks flicked out of sight, and it pondered over that strange compulsion to go and find the Home. Alpha's attention drifted away from that rather quickly, though, and it huffed sharply.

"Will—" (No, no, right, Overseer—) The Overseer growled at itself briefly. It asked lowly, carefully, "will Master Astraea be coming with us?" As an escort, "to watch for the Hive?" They had other options, it knew, if the stag were too busy. It would rather not risk such an incident reoccurring. Who was to say that its self-control would remain so admirable?

Certainly not Orthoclase-Alpha.

@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Its acceptance was enough.

Vargas could never tell if the Orthoclase was somehow battling some inner conflict (possible, he supposed), plotting some sort of treason (maybe?), or was only quiet because it was very, very dumb. He didn't think the latter was the case; it could show cunning, even show a well-spoken consideration for its thoughts, at times. But it hadn't done, not in a long time.

It would come, or it would not; right now they had things to do, and perhaps a new routine would aid the beast, Not in rebellion, though--Vargas had no intention of allowing that sort of thing again. Not like last time, anyway.

"I don't know," he answered, in response to the question about Astraea. "Maybe. But we will have other... company, there." Totum had been meant to arrive with them--to aid in watching for Mother, to fight it if needed. Vargas wasn't sure how, but he trusted Dhracia's judgment in this--unless that's a test, on her part. To see if we manage with only Totum's aid-? -But no, that would be a waste, Vargas estimated, of resources after all the other conversation she'd practically poured into the subject.

Well, they had a cave to reclaim, in any case.

An Overseer and guards to train.

And creations to begin... well, creating.

exit Vargas; @Orthoclase-Alpha

If only Var—Hell, if only Alpha could know how long it'd been out of sorts. Drifting along in the currents and playing pretend. Coasting through life was too easy to be fully aware of it. The monotony following its breaking point... ? Wreaked havoc on it. It'd been cooped up, pent-up, like a circus tiger with no more shows to perform.

So, maybe the newness of these quadrants would help it. Perhaps, it was something else entirely. Time would tell.

The orthoclase gave a wordless grunt of acknowledgement to the half-answer, and trudged after the Master. It had nothing to bring with it. That meager little shard of topaz (a mere piece of a so-called gift from the stag in Orion) and strange blue helmet could remain in the Warren. Either were well-hidden and the Sentinels that stayed wouldn't take kindly to intruders.

It couldn't help but feel surge of unidentifiable homesickness as they left the tunnel.

exit Alpha